


Memstone

by ridorana



Series: let's get rabanasty [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, established balvaan, in which i canonically make vaan a camboy, let's get rabanasty, sexting with rocks, sky pirate boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/pseuds/ridorana
Summary: In Vaan’s trademark cockatrice-scritch excuse for handwriting, the note reads something damnably simple:❝  -- Something more valuable: a little treasure from Lhusu. I await in Bhujerba.PS - open this in private, would you? -- ❞





	Memstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zellieda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellieda/gifts).



_"The Lhusu Mines are most famous for their high caliber of the skystone, the material which enables airships to ply the skies, and memstone, a variety of magicite that can store sound and even images in its unique crystalline structure._ "- **Sage's Knowledge, 54 of 78**. 

It is, all things considered, an unassuming package. Balthier turns the wrapping this way and that as he walks back up the gangplank from the mail moogle’s delivery. Docked spontaneously in Nalbina for impromptu maintenance on the Strahl’s most recent issue - a pesky adverse yaw that neither he nor Fran could seem to shake out of Her despite righting the wing’s degrees time and time again - he’s admittedly surprised to be receiving any correspondence whatsoever. It’s not as though _he’s_ told anyone where they’ve landed, though he can’t speak for Fran, who’s already off on a hunt with Penelo to pass the time.

Any other situation, and the sky pirate would half-wonder who sends correspondence to his ship, but upon a simple glance at the sad attempt for a wrapping job it is no mystery who the sender is.  The thought brings a small grin to his face; it is not often Vaan is wont to send fan mail. Whatever whimsy prompted him to do so, Balthier cares little. It has been a while since the winds have crossed their paths - moon cycles, it seems, since their last rendezvous, and even that had been short. And judging by the label and its many stamps layered in all manner of inks, it was no simple shipment. Beneath the collage of text Balthier can make out the source - Bhujerba, and priority. Well, it can’t be that urgent; if so, Vaan simply would have contacted him via the comm system from his own ship easily enough. The item is of some weight, and upon a squeeze, Balthier finds it clearly must be a stone of sorts - he can feel a raw edge trace the perimeter of something flat and smooth, just below the awkward crumple of brown paper wrapped haphazardly around it. Curious little thing, he wonders, idly sipping the red wine he hadn’t first bothered to place down upon answering the ring from the aerodrome’s mail moogle. The Strahl’s doors slide shut behind him and he heads through the berth back towards the cockpit.  
  
Balthier takes a seat back in the captain’s chair, and places his wine glass upon a flat surface of the dashboard - Fran, at least, isn’t around to remind him that the charging platform for the voice-comm device isn’t _also_ meant to be used as a drink cozy. It’s his damn ship, after all (at least, tonight - only when he is alone, all alone, so alone that she can’t even hear his thoughts with those ears of hers off in the Highwastes with Penelo).  
  
With his free hand, Balthier runs his beringed fingers over the frayed twine tied messily ‘round the package, and plucks the small note from its snarl. In Vaan’s trademark cockatrice-scritch excuse for handwriting, it reads something damnably simple:

_❝  -- Something more valuable: a little treasure from Lhusu. I await in Bhujerba._

_PS - open this in private, would you? -- ❞_

The corner of Balthier’s lip lifts in tandem with his brow. What could Vaan be playing at here? Balthier pulls apart the rest of the wrapping, and upon revealing it, he finds he was right: it is a stone. But much in the fashion of his life, it is no ordinary stone, no. It’s a Memstone, that’s clear enough. No stones in Ivalice are fashioned to look anything like these.

The size of it is that of a hand-mirror, just as flat and smooth, mined from Lhusu's depths and containing a very puzzling strain of magicks only loyal to that particular ore. A thin-slice breed of magicite no thicker than an inch, painstakingly mined and sanded, these trinkets are precious gems that hold sound and sight within its peculiar mists. This one, in particular, is quite stunning - Balthier admits he has never seen the like; the stone is a vibrant pink, flecked on the border with a raw edge of gold, and it catches the midday sun through the Strahl’s windglass in a show of color and shine. He holds it up to the light streaming through the cockpit, admiring the crisp glisten.

Balthier can only imagine the cost of such a thing. They are no easy feat to attain otherwise, unless Vaan’s recent jobs in Dorstonis have him neck-deep in untouched caverns with a pickaxe and a dream. Whatever manner with which Vaan’s acquired this, Balthier will surely find out within its message. Yes, its message - curious indeed. There’s a way to activate these stones, he knows. The mists that flow within it are dense and powerful. It responds to an incantation of sorts, assigned by the sender that first injected it with magicks to begin with, and of course, Vaan _would_ have forgotten that pleasant little detail. Balthier picks up the small tag again to re-read his short message, and flips it over to find, no, his little desert-thief-turned-globetrotter had all his bases covered, for one more line greets him with all but a wink:

_❝  - See You Soon. - ❞_

Balthier takes another sip of his wine to wet his lips, and says the three words aloud. The gold borders of the stone respond, hum, and he feels the mist roil beneath his fingertips before the familiar, charming visage of his Dalmascan materializes in a haze of pink.

“Is this thing on? Uh,” Vaan’s face is there, in the palm of Balthier's hand; his voice, though tinny, fills the cockpit with warmth. Balthier stares back at him. Though the visual is but a small sampling, Balthier can see he’s in his cabin upon the _Tournesol_ , a cramped but cozy enough venue. “I hope so. I’ve never used one of these things before.” Balthier hasn’t, either, and he watches on in amusement. Despite the pinkish haze set by the stone’s tone, it _is_ good to see him, and as Vaan smiles and laughs self-deprecatingly Balthier can’t help but mirror a grin. Infectious little twit. “Listen, I know these things only record so much - so, let’s get to the point, huh?” And here, he flashes Balthier another grin and the frame shifts awkwardly and abruptly as Vaan adjusts the stone; he’s propped it on something at the foot of his bed, the large wooden chest most like, the angle viewing the expanse of his mattress. In the background, Balthier hears fumbling.

 _This should be interesting_ , Balthier thinks to himself, and keeps his eyes glued to the stone in his hand. He watches further, takes another sip of his wine, a generous one this time, only to have the rim freeze at his lips when he finds that, upon Vaan returning into the frame and onto the bed, he’s stark naked. Not only stark naked, but also very, very hard. Slowly, entranced, Balthier puts the wine glass down where the comm-system charger should be but isn’t, and gives the stone his full attention.

As Vaan lies down within the stone’s view, propped up only by the headboard and pillows, he stands true by his words earlier and, indeed, wastes no time. Pretense never was a Dalmascan’s winning attribute and it certainly rings true here as Vaan spreads his smooth tanned thighs wantonly, and immediately grabs hold of his erection.

“When I heard about these things, I couldn’t resist.” His thief-laugh works its way sinuously through Balthier’s veins straight between own his legs as Vaan pumps his thick cock nice and slow. The moan Vaan melts out from it is enough to make heat coil in the base of the sky pirate’s balls and he nearly mirrors the sound; the view is absolutely debauched, and--and Balthier can see - _damn it all_ , he can see now, the plug nestled snugly in Vaan’s rear, the very one he bought for the Dalmascan ages ago. “I wanted to send you something special, in case you forgot about me or something.” What a chit. As if Balthier ever could forget about him even if he wanted to; Vaan has fully infected his bloodstream and headspace in a way that anchors and frees him all at once. He’s a damnable rude thing, constantly pushing all his buttons and levers, and now is no exception.

Vaan’s theatrical bedside manner is not lost in translation here, and he puts on a show for his lover in the way he always does, working his cock fluidly all while reminding Balthier how oft as of late he’s had to resort to the same practices; the gunman finds the stone’s triggering incantation best ring true, because if he doesn’t _see Vaan soon_ and bury his cock so deep that they both see fucking _stars_ he isn’t sure what he’s going to do.

Vaan moans again, louder and damnably boyish when he flicks his wrist in a twist across the head, pulling skin to kiss over its shape. “You liking the view?”

“ _The view is spectacular_ ,” Balthier voices to the empty cockpit, and the captain’s seat creaks again as he widens his legs somewhat, his other hand fumbling madly at the sweet ache-strain of his erection against his trousers; his cock barely sees the light of day when Balthier frees it before he’s working at it furiously in tandem with Vaan. He almost wishes he had some slick to make this even more enjoyable, but--the passing thought is pleasant enough that he can simply replay this later. Again, and again. For now, he dare not take his eyes off this infectiously sinful view encased within the stone’s pink haze.

Outside, the sound of Strahl’s maintenance reaches Balthier’s ears and he can’t help the mischievous grin that pulls at the seam of his lips - this just keeps getting better, it seems.  

It was for privacy and protection’s sake that he and Fran equipped the Strahl with two-way concealment glass on the windscreen, and with a wicked grin he finds it lends well to such indecency here; outside, maintenance workers surround the Strahl’s hangar on sky-bridges, continuing on while blissfully unaware of the airship captain within, leisurely stroking himself with legs parted wide as day on the dash of his ship. The exhibitionist in him is loving this, and Balthier thinks this has to be the best-worst thing anyone’s ever been possessed to send him.

Though Vaan’s handwork on his cock and his own lovely face are hard to look away from, the plug nestled in his tight hole sits snugly in the foreground of the frame, mocking Balthier. He wants his mouth and his cock there, all over every inch of Vaan really, but especially _there_. Either Vaan’s enjoying the performance or really enjoying himself, because the spectacle is simply breathtaking; his broad chest rises and falls rhythmically as he gasps, artfully stroking himself in a tempo that seems to quicken with each passing moment, the smooth globes of flesh below the base of his cock bouncing in tandem. Balthier bites his lip and is filled with the all-encompassing desire to cover Vaan’s open mouth with his own in a searing kiss.

“I wish I could see you now. Are you touching yourself?” -- _Way ahead of you,_ Balthier thinks -- “you better be. I want you to touch yourself.” Damn this boy. Ever since Vaan found out about Balthier’s sinful weakness for _illustrious_ bedroom-language, Vaan’s been an absolute devil incarnate, and he really plays it out here. It would almost seem over-the-top to anyone else, but Balthier? Balthier fucking loves it. Oh it’s so sweet, so sinful when Vaan tells him exactly what it is his little thief-heart desires in the heat of sex and he does it so well. Balthier would salivate if his mouth weren’t so fucking dry - Vaan’s sucked it all out of him it seems. The man is parched and the only way to sate such a thirst is to fill his mouth with Vaan, all of Vaan - Vaan’s tongue, Vaan’s cock, the flesh of Vaan’s neck that drives him wild. The fact he can’t drives the sky pirate nearly insane. From behind the boundary of the stone, Vaan moans again, a hitch in his breath and the lasting note is an octave lower as he pleasures himself further.

From off-frame, his other hand comes into view, and it traces the plug between his legs, ghosting over the delicious ring of muscle stretched ‘round it.

“Bet you want me to take this thing out, yeah? Play with myself down here?”

“Gods be, yes,” Balthier chokes, the question smiting him with want; he’s only minutely aware of the workers outside shouting things to one-another about the Strahl’s wing degrees from their aerial vantage point. And it’s as if Vaan _can_ hear him, because he laughs breathlessly and closes his fingers around the flared base of the plug to pull, slowly, grinding out yet another award-winning moan that leaves Balthier echoing it in the cockpit. Vaan’s fingers are already slick, and he pushes them in, all three at once, filling himself completely. Balthier chokes out a gasp as he quickens the pace on his cock.

“Oh, yeah--fuck yeah,” Vaan moans, wrist working, “So full, _gods,_ Balthier.” And Balthier moans again here, the sound laced over Vaan’s. He dare not to blink even once as the blonde begins to thoroughly fuck himself, jumping right into a heavy pace and stretching deliciously where the plug could not.

There’s thunder behind the shell of Balthier’s ribcage, a primal visceral sort of sensation that has him practically feeling Vaan’s tight velvet heat enveloping his length deliciously, and for a sweet moment it’s not his hand he’s fucking but it’s Vaan, his young lithe body ripe with musclebound warmth and humming to every nuance of his touch. Seamless. It’s always seamless with him in bed, almost horribly so - Vaan’s the best he’s ever had and it rings true here, even when he doesn’t have Vaan at all, and it’s just his visage encased in a hot-pink haze where he has to fill in the blanks, imagine the tan of his skin, the shock-aureate of his hair, the ash-grey of his eyes that beckon a fire only he can start. But these blanks are filled in with no real effort on Balthier’s part; he knows of Vaan fluently by now, every gradation and facet, and here, time and distance between them both pulls at him in something hot and near-painful in its intensity so rooted in _want._

Vaan burrows his fingers as deep as his they will let him, and with the Memstone’s angle, the view is all the more depraved; he stretches around the digits beautifully and Balthier is reminded here of times he’s been in the midst of fucking Vaan only to pull back from their kiss to look down and watch with licentious fascination at the way his cock slides in and out, in and out, in and out--Vaan, shaped around him, so tight and hot and _good_.

“How’re you liking this, huh? You like seeing me like this? Do you want me, ‘Thier? ‘Cause I want you. _So_ much. I want this to be you so much,” Vaan’s voice is lower now, huskier as he works his fingers deep.

Balthier can’t help but answer back a resounding carnal, “ _Yes_ .” _Yes, gods yes,_ he wants that, he’s wanted that every night for the past several - many - weeks, and he commends his lover for having the fortitude to send him something so creative on his own accord to bridge a gap he otherwise would not have thought to.

Balthier can tell that Vaan’s finding himself here, as the cant of his fingers changes somewhat and he gasps - and hellfires, Balthier gasps too, knowing that spot of Vaan all too well, gods _dammit_ he wants him. Yes, Vaan’s definitely found it, and makes a right damn show of it with a beautiful sound of wanton triumph as he wriggles his fingers at that one precious spot, throwing his head back so that all Balthier can see is the rise of his throat bared to the ceiling. Ah, he could lave at that neck for ages; Vaan was hideously weak to his ministrations there, and Balthier just as deathly precise with them. There have been times with Vaan below him that have stretched to near-hours, seemingly with just his mouth on the Dalmascan’s neck, lips teasing, tongue searching, teeth nipping, feeling every pulse beneath his lips, every thrum of a moan below his throat. Those moments would be boring, almost, if Vaan weren’t so beautifully expressive in bed, an unassuming trait that has cut Balthier’s resolve to ribbons and has reprogrammed the coding of his machinations to do one thing and one thing only behind any manner of closed doors - _Make Vaan Feel Fucking Amazing._ He wants that here and now. He wants to make Vaan feel as good as he’s--no, _better_ , light-years better than how the Dalmascan is making himself feel now.

“Gods, ‘Thier, I want you to-- to touch me, _ahhn_ , want you to fuck me, just like this, deep, so deep and--” Vaan’s moan pitches to the back of his throat, a siren’s song that beckons Balthier’s hips up towards his own eager touch. His eyes flutter open, locking them onto the Memstone, and he bites his lip; the gesture is a personal favorite of Balthier’s and he can hardly believe he can replay it in the palm of his hand. Well, the palm, at least, that isn’t furiously working at his cock which begs for Vaan’s heat and not this tired hand-game. Nevertheless, he makes do. Balthier quickens the pace on his own cock, the sound of flesh on flesh paired in harmony with Vaan’s lovely sounds of keening pleasure emanating from the stone’s mist. He’s getting close. And he can tell Vaan is, too, the way he writhes, his heel digging into the bed, toes curling, breath hitching.

“ _Yes, Vaan_ ,” Balthier praises through gritted teeth, jaw rippling with the force of staving off his orgasm just a few moments longer. It’s a moot point, though, really.

“Balthier, I--I’m gonna,” Vaan’s grinds his hips into his own greedy fingers, jaw slack and hand sloppy on his cock, “I’m gonna come,” he whines, managing to close his mouth just for a moment to bite his lip again.

And that’s what pushes Balthier over the edge, Vaan’s white teeth on his full dark lips as he rocks into his own ministrations and undoes himself into something raw and gorgeous.

Balthier’s orgasm is a roiling hot wave of sensations he beckons forth with his own hand; his snake-green gaze is wide and unblinking at Vaan’s visage, lips parted to make way for his own low throaty moans as he watches Vaan take his own climax as well. It’s a beautiful sight, it always is, to watch Vaan come. His whole body trembles, toes curling again, and Balthier loses sight of Vaan’s pretty face as the blonde thrusts his head backwards onto the pillows; the cockpit is filled with the sounds of his moans through the stone, and Balthier pumps out the last of his orgasm until the wake of it leaks down his beringed fingers in a slick, sated slide.

In the aftermath, they both catch their breaths, chests rising and falling in unison. Balthier’s hand which holds the stone is nearly trembling with the reverberating force of his climax and the adrenaline of it all, and it pulls a stunned smile at the corner of his lips. He watches through the glassy pink mists as Vaan finally rights himself, grabs his sash from the bedside table, and messily cleans up. Then, he crawls towards the foot of the bed, nearing the Memstone, and plucks it from its hold. He’s breathless and feral and everything Balthier could ever want, yet the worst thing he’s ever been given, and Vaan kisses the stone quickly, briefly blinding the view before Vaan re-emerges with a smirk.

“See you soon,” he says, and like blade to thread, the stone’s magicks cut, leaving only abrupt darkness and a lasting promise framed within its shape.


End file.
